


Hollow Spaces

by MermaidWhispers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidWhispers/pseuds/MermaidWhispers
Summary: The mark changed everything! This was not what Harellan asked for. But the empty space inside him that had ripped itself open after the mark appeared on his hand needs to be addressed. Flung into the middle of chaos and war, he finds himself the reluctant albeit capable leader of the Inquisition. Despite their many arguments and disagreements, he finds solace in a strange elf he really wants to hate but can't help but like. Finding friendship and support in the most unlikely of places, can Harellan find what he has lost? And perhaps help save the world at the same time.
Relationships: Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Male Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! -waves nervously and hides-  
> This was brewing in my head for some time. I decided it can be chapter 1 of a story that I have wanted to write for a while.  
> Canon DA:I stuff will make some small appearances here and there if it is important but this story won't really follow the outline of the game.  
> No beta reader so everything is proofread by me (oh boy!) so if I got anything wrong or made some silly or stupid mistakes please don't hesitate to let me know!

_He twitched at the sudden crack of twigs. Hands balled into fists he crouched down and slowly released his fingers placing them gently on the ground._

_Another snap of twigs and his head turned. Too slow. Dammit! He was too slow. His eyes crossed to look at the point of an arrow that rested mere centimetres from his forehead. It was held by a simple wooden bow. Slowly he lifted his hands off the ground and scooted away standing to full height. He watched the man holding the bow, dark skin and bright beige markings covering his face. His hair pulled back into a tight bun. Eyebrows knitted in concentration over dark eyes. This hunter was young._

_The crunching of the leaves and moving of branches brought his attention to another figure stepping into their space. She was tall, simply clad in a green tunic and pants, with a long grey coat. She smiled as she approached and placed a firm hand on the hunter’s shoulder. He immediately put the arrow back in his quiver and slung the bow over his back._

_“Hello child,” she said soothingly “we must have scared you. What are you doing so far from home?”_

_“Keeper, what are you doing? This is a shemlen child!” The archer hissed._

_The boy watched them and as they talked, he pulled his hair behind his ears. They were pointed like theirs. The Keeper, whatever that word meant, looked at him strangely squinting her icy blue eyes and raising a delicate brow._

_“Where are you from child?” She kept talking in the common tongue. The boy looked down at his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Are you hungry? My clan is not far from here, we can feed you and give you room to rest.”_

_“Perhaps he is mute Keeper” the archer spoke up again. “Or perhaps he is deaf?”_

_“What have I told you Felassan about looking beyond what your eyes can see?” She snapped at him and gave him a gentle push behind her._

_The boy snorted and looked down taking one hand out of his pocket and putting it over his mouth to hide a fit of laughter._

_“What is so funny?” the woman asked._

_The boy’s eyes darted to the archer._

_“His name means slow arrow” he replied, perfect Elvish rolling off his tongue between fits of giggles._

_The woman’s eyes widened but she couldn’t help the undignified snort of laughter that escaped her lips at the boy’s declaration._

_“I am Keeper Deshanna. This, as you already heard is Felassan. He is one of our hunters. He tracked you all the way to these woods. Could you tell us where you’re from? Or what your name is?”_

_The boy looked Felassan over, he doubted he was much older than he was. His eyes fell on Deshanna, he took in the markings on her face, they were not like Felassan’s but they were of the same origin._

_“You are Dalish.” The boy stated._

_If this Keeper looked surprised, she did not show it. Her eyes glinted with something that the boy could most likely describe as curiosity, but he quickly looked away to meet the archer’s scowl. Dark eyes narrowed as his gaze zeroed in on him._

_“What clan do you belong to? You don’t have your vallaslin and yet you are of age.”_

_“Why would I want the vallaslin?” The boy shot back. Something hot flared inside him. Anger. He took a deep breath and turned away from the infuriating ‘slow arrow’ archer._

_“What is your name child?” The Keeper asked. She knelt in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders bringing his attention back to her. Her hands were warm. There was something soothing in her touch. A sort of grounding comfort he had not felt in a long time. He watched her icy blue eyes search his face for answers, a frown creased her tattooed forehead when she found none._

_“I do not know.” The boy replied and shrugged, finally averting his gaze to stare up at the line of trees in the distance. There was silence in reply. A crow cawed in the distance, and the wind rushed through the leaves and ruffled his hair. Once more he turned to look at Keeper Deshanna, but she was gone. They were both gone._

***

Harellan awoke to the sound of metal and raised voices. The smell of rock, sweat, and blood made him scrunch his nose. His shoulders felt tight, his head ached, his back felt like it was on fire, and for a moment he wondered if he still had his legs because neither of them was able to move. He opened his eyes to find two women talking amongst each other. Sweat rolled down his face and his hear was plastered to his forehead. He pulled his arms but felt the cool metal against his wrists. He gasped in panic but before he could react a woman with a scowl and short hair grabbed him by the shoulders and yelled.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?”

Spittle landed on his face and he closed his eyes.

“The conclave is destroyed, everyone attended is dead. Except for you” she continued to yell.

Dead? He looked around the room in a panic. _You are in a cell. This is a prison._ He told himself and took a deep breath. Somehow that logical realization was not helping the rising panic.

“You have to let me go!” The common tongue felt awkward and he hoped he made himself clear enough for the angry woman to understand.

“Explain this!” She lifted his bound hands and a green gash of light hissed and sparked and blinded him. He closed his eyes and turned his head.

“Let me go!” He said louder. Panic rose and with it heat. The familiar swell of anger in his chest bubbled and his fingers twitched. The mark sparked and he found himself yelping in pain as it crackled on his palm.

“I don’t know what is going on” he pleaded. “Let me go, please. I did not do anything wrong.”

“You’re lying!” The woman shook him and finally, the red-haired one standing beside her pulled her back.

“We need him, Cassandra, control yourself.”

Panic! Anger! He needed to breathe. He needed air. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Panic. Anger. His lungs felt like they were filled with sand. He gasped. Screwed his eyes shut. Then darkness.

He was woken with a start by someone throwing ice-cold water over his face. Yelping he got to his feet, taking some steps back he bumped into the wall. His head still ached and now his face was ice cold. His wrists though, they burned like someone set fire to them. A most unpleasant combination with the throbbing electricity in his palm. He groaned in pain and squinted in the half-darkness at his wrists. They were bleeding and the skin where the cuffs used to be bubbled angrily. Frantically he looked around the room. This should have been so much worse! Why wasn’t it worse?

“Calm yourself” he looked up to see the other woman speaking to him. “We will not hurt you. You must come with us.” She stepped aside pulling the other woman with her.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You fell unconscious and burned through your bindings.” The woman with short hair, the one he heard was named Cassandra, explained. Harellan looked her over noticing her sword at the ready and eyes filled with fear, but the tightness of her lips showed that she was trying to stay calm. 

This was supposed to be much worse.

“If you promise not to run, we will take you outside perhaps then you will remember,” the other woman said.

He nodded and took a hesitant step forward. They were not attacking him as promised, and the cool mountain air from the open door felt soothing and inviting. He took another step, then another, until he was outside. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and a steadying hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Look up,” Cassandra instructed.

The sky was torn and, in the middle, an angry swirl of green loomed over the world bellow. In the distance, he could hear screaming. The air around him felt energized with power. He frowned at the sky and his hand crackled angrily.

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave” said Cassandra.

“What do I have on my palm?” He asked, making sure to speak slowly and as clearly as possible. “What happened?”

“That is what we wanted to find out from you.” The red-haired woman said. “Is there anything you remember?”

What did he remember? There was running. A woman’s voice. He remembered a feeling more than any actual events. He remembered extreme pain and then as if something was torn from him. As if the gaping cavity was not just in the sky but inside him as well. He felt it now too. Dark, and brooding. Waiting to be filled.

“I remember running away, and there was a woman behind me. Whatever this is, I did not cause it.”

“Perhaps,” Cassandra spoke. “But you may be the key to fixing it. We cannot know for sure. The mark on your hand it spreads each time the breach expands. It is killing you.”

He looked down at his hand, at the angry green mark scarring his palm. _The mark of death_ a voice in his head whispered. It sounded far away, like a memory he couldn’t place, a familiarity that was just out of reach.

“You must see reason. I would not do this to myself.”

“We have no time to decide your guilt now, we have to act.” The red-haired woman said and for the first time the quiet, calm, and deadly demeanour were replaced by mild impatience.

“Go to the forward camp Leliana” Cassandra said. “I will get our prisoner closer to the rift.”

Cassandra watched as the other woman walked away then turning to the prisoner she said “I will take you closer to the rift, we must try closing it. You may be our only hope.” There was a look of defeat in her eyes. She looked like someone stripped of power and agency. Harellan felt sorry for her.

“I will help close this rift. Do whatever I need. Whatever is required of me.”

*** 

There were demons everywhere, and Cassandra was not where she should be. A small part of him hoped she didn’t actually kill the prisoner. All his work would be for naught. Solas scowled at the demons falling from the rift as he threw spell upon freezing spell at them. Varric yelled obscenities beside him and shot arrows but the demons just kept coming. He froze a demon inches from his body and it exploded with an icy blast. Turning to another demon he called on his power, readied the attack but before he could strike the demon wheezed, screeched, and was torn apart. There was a surge of energy and then a beam of sickening green light shot at the rift forcing it closed. There was a blast and suddenly all went still.

Finally, Solas dared himself to turn, eyebrows raised in quiet surprise. Cassandra was leaning over a man, fallen to his knees, wrists torn and bleeding, mark glittering and sparking angrily, face contorted in pain. What did that stupid woman do to him? Solas thought angrily but made no move to join Cassandra’s effort. If this mysterious stranger could close the rift without any instruction, he would indeed prove to be a most interesting study.

“I am alright” the man breathed out. He placed his fingers on the ground, steadied himself, and slowly pushed himself up. “I am alright, just pain, it is just pain.” He gave Cassandra what Solas thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile, alas it never reached his eyes. Slowly the man turned to look at the rest of them, sharp eyes scrutinizing them all in turn. A remarkably interesting study indeed!

“Kid! You’re awake and alive and you closed that thing.” Varric moved first walking over to the elf and slapping him on the shoulder. “I am Varric Tethras and this is Bianca! I assume you got acquainted with the Seeker judging by the displeased look on your face.” Varric laughed and moved Bianca out of the way. Cassandra growled something unintelligible in response and punctuated it with a disgusted noise.

“I am not a kid.” The elf stated sharply. “And you have named your weapon?” He raised an eyebrow looking down at the dwarf expectantly. “Is it a common practice among dwarves?”

“Woah! Cool it, kid, no harm done it was just a nickname if you don’t like it, I’ll come up with another. For example, Chuckles over there loves my nicknames.” Solas glared. “As for the crossbow, yeh it has a name. Long story though. You probably shouldn’t bother asking.” He gave a smile and a quick wink to Cassandra who replied smartly with another disgruntled sound.

The elf regarded him coolly at first. Not bothering to hide the suspicion he undoubtedly felt. But the sides of his mouth pulled into a small smile and he inclined his head in greeting.

“I am pleased to meet you Varric.”

“You might reconsider that stance, in time.” Solas smiled politely at the man as his attention slowly turned to him. “I am Solas if there are to be introductions. What shall we call you?”

Up close the elf looked pale, most likely weakened from the exertion of closing a rift for the first time. He leaned on his staff for support and Solas caught a quick glimpse of his wrists. Burn marks! How curious. The rest of him was interesting, to say the least. Long black hair was loosely tied in a braid that now rested delicately on his shoulder. He had a look of deep concentration in his pale green eyes. They were so pale they almost resembled glass. It gave him the look of a phantom or apparition. Unnerving yet timelessly beautiful, and Solas reprimanded himself for such foolish thoughts almost immediately. Perfectly groomed brows framed his sharp features that were neither delicate nor too prominent. Solas decided that the best way to describe this elf, the only way to describe him because he was not going to entertain the thoughts of complimenting his appearance, was dignified. And wasn’t that a curiosity in itself? What elf could afford the luxury of looking dignified in their time? His face was absent of markings which possibly made him a city elf but most of those were servants or slaves. His posture and overall demeanour did not reflect any form of servitude. He stood tall; he _was_ tall. Taller than Solas by half a head. Held his back straight, his shoulders back, he commanded attention and Solas, sheepishly, berating himself for such childishness, felt it difficult to not give him the attention. There was no harm in scientific observation, and naturally, that is what this was. Wasn’t it? This elf _was_ a curiosity.

“ _Andaran atish’an_ , they call me Harellan. It is good to meet you Solas.” Harellan smiled at him and bowed his head in respect.

“Harellan?” What kind of name was that to give one’s child? Solas frowned at not being able to succeed at masking his surprise.

“Yes?” Thankfully, the elf didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he certainly did not show it.

“I am glad to see you still live.”

“In other words, he means to say that he kept the mark from killing you while you slept.”

Harellan’s eyes widened and an easy smile pulled at his lips. It was an easy smile to like, Solas thought.

“So you know about the mark? _I theorized that it could close rifts based on what Seeker Cassandra described of its origins –”_ Solas raised his eyebrows and Harellan immediately looked around at the faces staring up at him. A soft pale pink blush crept up his cheeks and Solas couldn’t help but chuckle. Hearing him dive into perfect elvish was surprising but fascinating. It made Harellan’s accent in the common tongue all the more apparent.

“Speak plainly!” Cassandra barked. “Might I remind you that you are still a suspect.”

“Might I remind you that I agreed to help willingly. And I am sure that if I was saying anything -” he fumbled around the word before sounding it out, “suspicious, Solas would have informed you of it immediately. Or is he a suspect too because he is a mage or is it because he is an elf?” Harellan snapped causing a stifled chuckle to escape Varric as he turned away shoulders shaking slightly from the laughter.

“I divert to elven at my earliest convenience.” Harellan explained to the gawking Cassandra. “Your words are difficult for me to pronounce. I was asking Solas about the mark as he may have very well saved my life.” If Solas hadn’t been paying such close attention he wouldn’t have noticed the quick but lingering glance the elf shot his way.

“I am flattered at your confidence in me.”

“For now, it is simply a confidence in knowledge” Harellan replied and Solas felt a shiver run through him at how quickly the other elf deflated his ego. But of course, trusting someone just because they had the same ear shape would be unwise, and so far, Harellan did not appear to be that. How this seemingly unassuming elf figured out that the mark could close rifts was a question for another day. For now, they had to get closer to the breach.

***

His wrists were burning but that was not what made him uneasy. Usually such panic leads to much more devastating outcomes. He guessed that his deflated outburst in the prison was somewhat of a blessing. Had his panic attack succeeded they surely would have executed him no questions asked. _As if they could?_ He scoffed internally. But this breach, these rifts. He needed to see this through. He needed to get this mark off his hand. He could feel it had something to do with the emptiness he felt inside. The ditch, the hole, the well inside him where whispers and echoes of memories barely bounced off the walls.

Solas, he may have some answers. The elf was calm and suspicious. His smiles were warm but hardly any reached his eyes. His manner of speech was noble and yet he dressed like a vagabond. Harellan hated the duplicity and yet found it alarmingly exciting. There was always something enticing about a person so contradictory. It reminded him of someone. Who? He searched his memories but the well simply grew deeper.

“So, what kind of elf are you?” He didn’t have to see Varric, he heard him approach and fall in line with him. His footsteps were light but heavier than an elf’s and Cassandra was already too far ahead. Harellan looked down at his new companion and raised an eyebrow.

“I am afraid I don’t understand the question.”

“I believe Varric means to ask where you are from. Even though he’s done it so rudely.” Solas clarified walking faster to remain on the other side of Harellan.

“Oh Chuckles, not all of us can have such pristine manners.”

Harellan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up to the surface. He covered his mouth with his hand and attempted to adopt a serious look.

“See even Harellan finds you funny.”

“We barely know each other and already you mock me?” Solas asked.

Harellan turned to look at him ready to apologize but was caught off guard by the lopsided smile on the other elf’s face.

“I am from clan Lavellan. We reside in the Free Marches.” He decided to answer instead.

“You are Dalish?” The disappointment on the other elf’s face was unmistakable. But there was something else, was it surprise? Harellan frowned.

“But don’t the Dalish have markings on their skin or something like that?” Varric asked clearly trying to deflate the tension.

“Yes, they call it the Vallaslin. Blood writing. I did not wish to have it.” He said simply.

“None of the Dalish I crossed paths with would even consider the choice of having or not having a Vallaslin.” Solas replied.

“Tradition is misleading, there is much that they do not understand. They wish to preserve and that is commendable, but they do not know what it is they wear upon their skins.”

“That is a refreshing attitude coming from someone that has grown up in a Dalish clan.”

“Perhaps.” Harellan stopped and looked down at his feet as he kicked up some dirt. Solas stopped beside him and Varric did as well. From the corner of his eye, Harellan could see the dwarf’s fingers fidget, clearly sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere. “But one crosses paths with a wolf, not a people da’len.”

As expected, Solas’ reaction was surprised but immediately turned icy at hearing Harellan refer to him as a child.

“It seems the Dalish inability to see reason has rubbed off on you,” Solas remarked through a tight smile.

Harellan locked eyes with him. Those gray orbs looked so cold he wanted to shiver. They stared at him full of disappointment, full of expected disrespect.

“Only a child will choose to be spiteful simply because his opinion was not met with agreement. Regardless of how right or wrong, you are. Those who live not by your rules but by their own deserve respect. And I will call you da’len until you learn this.”

“Can’t you elves just play nice?” Varric rubbed a hand over his face and deciding on a quick retreat began to walk farther ahead.

“You bristle at my words” Harellan continued “and yet from what I hear of yours our opinions are not so different.” He stared at Solas and watched how behind those serious eyes a storm was brewing and war was happening between what to show, what to say, and what to leave hidden. Harellan decided that this was probably the first time anyone dared to stand up to him. The way the other elf talked; it was as if he knew the makings of the world. And yet. He could not know everything. A grandiose amount of knowledge did not make someone good, it just made them intelligent and in the case of Solas probably cunning too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harellan takes the news of being the Herald of Andraste as well as anyone would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thought this day would never come! Chapter 2! Edited by moi, so if there are a ton of mistakes you only have me to blame. But please point them out I would greatly appreciate it.   
> Please enjoy!   
> -hides under the table-

_Pale fingers ran through long black hair, smoothing it out before combing through it with a wooden comb. The fingers picked up strands of hair and slowly, patiently began to pull and twist them into a lose thick braid._

_“Never cut it lethalin.” A woman’s voice, soft and singsong, whispered in elvish._

_“Yes mama” a boy’s voice replied, he smiled to himself as his mother tied a ribbon at the end of his braid._

_“Is it the green one?”_

_“Yes my love, the green one that you like the most.”_

_“I will always remember this mama. Always! I will always remember you too.”_

_The woman laughed and it sounded light and crisp and carefree._

_“Why such sombre words my dear?”_

_“I just want to remember this mama, remember you forever. Remember your face.” The boy smiled and stood. He turned to look behind him but all that greeted him was darkness._

***

Harellan wakes with a start upsetting a cup sitting on a bedside table it clattered loudly as it hit the floor. His head hurt something awful. For a moment, the world spun, and he fell back down on the pillow. He closes his eyes and places a heavy arm over his face. He feels the moving sensations, slight vertigo, it feels as if he is on a rocking boat. Somewhere from the corner of his room he hears a gentle shuffle and someone walking towards the bed. He senses a figure looming over him, he can feel its presence solid beside him.

“ _Who is there?”_ He asks not realizing and probably not caring that he spoke in elvish.

“ _Rest Harellan,”_ Solas answers and audibly kneels to place the cup back on the table.

“ _Were you here all night?”_

 _“A few nights actually.”_ Solas states from somewhere farther in the room. Harellan hears the movement of a chair and then the creak of Solas sitting down. Cold, yet gentle fingers take Harellan’s forearm and move it away from his eyes.

“ _How did you get burn marks on your wrists?”_

 _“I was out for a few days?”_ Harellan asks and finally dares to open his eyes. Above him a humble wooden ceiling of soft light brown wood. It is not tall and yet not so low as to feel imposing. Something about the wood feels inviting. The sun rays peek through the window and dance across the walls. He briefly looks around, careful not to meet Solas’ gaze. Those concentrated grey eyes that watch him with curiosity. A gaze that is both inviting and frightening.

_“You avoid my question, but I will answer yours. It has been three days since our attack on the breach.”_

_“So, we prevailed?”_

_“You were successful Harellan. Exceedingly so.”_ Solas has not let go of his arm. His fingers trace over his injured wrists and an involuntary hiss of pain escapes. Solas makes a small noise, displeased or disappointed Harellan can’t quite decipher yet, and the soothing feeling of healing magic permeates his scarred and blistered wrists. _“You waited long Harellan, I cannot take away the scars that will form, but I can heal the wounds and stop the pain.”_

Harellan closes his eyes listening to the soft lilt of Solas’ elvish. His mastery of the language is pristine, beautiful.

 _“You speak beautifully.”_ He whispers and feels the magic waver but only for a moment. Slowly he turns his face to look at the elf sitting beside him on the chair. His eyebrows knitted in concentration and his mouth just barely turned up at the corners in a private smile. _“How did you learn to speak this way?”_

 _“It is I who should be asking you the same question. How does a Dalish elf come to know the Elven language so well. The Dalish only know fragments, while you, you –“_ Solas cut himself off as he looks up from Harellan’s wrists to look at his face. His eyes glide over his features, searching for something that Harellan knows would not be there. Emptiness pulls at him again, it whines for attention wanting to be filled with meaning, substance.

“ _Look who’s avoiding questions now,”_ Harellan laughs quietly but the laugh feels empty as well.

“I do not mean to insult you, I just mean to compliment your abilities.” Harellan closes his eyes, this is not what Solas is meant to say. He is not meant to compliment him. Compliments would just make everything more complicated. He startles as cold fingers push back hair off his forehead. “Dark, like crow’s wings” Solas mutters and Harellan tenses “forgive me if I had put you on edge. I should be congratulating you…” Solas stands and places the chair back in what Harellan assumes is the chair’s original spot. “You have miraculously succeeded in your task. The rift stopped growing and the people praise you for the feat.” Solas falters at the last words.

Harellan turns his head on the pillow to look at Solas smiling at him, a small controlled smile. He offers a respectful bow.

“So they do not hate me? It worked?” He asks hesitantly.

“You should step outside and see for yourself.” With the same expertly controlled smile Solas picks up some papers off a table and heads for the door. 

“Solas -”

“Yes?” Solas’ back and shoulders tense a bare minimum, but enough for Harellan’s keen gaze to pick up the shift in attitude.

“I am sorry for- for not- well-“ Harellan frowns and looks down at his now healed wrists. The ugly scars still visible, but the pain is blissfully gone. A constant reminder of the emptiness. _Repulsive._

“No need to explain yourself, I was much too keen with my questions and disregarded the fact that you must still be disoriented and tired. The fault is mine. I am sure that should you feel comfortable, you will answer them in time.” Instinctively Harellan’s fingers travel to his hairline where Solas had pushed back his hair. Something twists in his heart and he feels foolish and just a little lighter than when he woke up. 

***

His body still aches and he feels exhausted as he steps into the bright afternoon sun. The people, the shemlen outside chant something about the Herald of Andraste and Harellan hopes and begs the creators that they are not referring to him. He walks the path to the chantry, snow crunching below his bare feet. His hair is tugged and pulled by the wind, giving its probably already dishevelled appearance an even wilder look. The humans around him whisper and stare, some point, and some still scowl. Others offer him a bow which he awkwardly waves away with his hand providing a tight-lipped smile. The world had gone mad! He all but runs for the chantry door flings it open and closes it leaning against it with a sigh of relief.

Muffled voices from inside a closed room at the end of the hallway argue loudly. He walks towards the noise. As every step brings him closer, he realizes with no small degree of horror that the harshly spoken words are about him. He runs a shaking hand over his face and waits outside. About three times he reaches out a hand and at the sight of the door handle and the escalating volume on the other end he brings it down to nervously tap against his thigh. What did he get himself into? The mark on his hand sparks and fizzles down like a badly made firecracker. He stares at it angrily as it illuminates the small space around him.

“This is your fault” he mumbles to himself starring at his marked palm.

Harellan closes his eyes and breathes in his surroundings. Wood, the smell of old wooden furniture, dust, rock, and crisp winter air. Once more he reaches out, fingers still shaking as he grips the handle, pulls it, and forces the door open. Faces he only barely knew stare at him with wide eyes. Guilty eyes, that betray the gossiper.

“It is my understanding that you wished to see me?” Harellan looks at Cassandra and provides a stiff bow. “Can I be of assistance?”

“Ser Lavellan –“

“Harellan, please” he interrupts.

“Harellan,” Cassandra begins again “it has come to my attention, to our attention, that we have not been properly introduced. I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, this is Leliana our Spymaster, Commander Cullen he will be responsible for our troops, and Josephine Montilyet will take care of our diplomatic affairs.”

“Ah yes, I caught your names in the prison cell.” Harellan nods to Cassandra and Leliana. “It is nice to wake up in a bed rather than the cold floor.” 

“ _Andaran atish’an”_ Josephine states politely.

“You speak elvish?” Harellan smiles.

“I am afraid you have just heard the entirety of it” Josephine lets loose a quiet and polite laugh.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, these are all very impressive titles.” Harellan gives another small bow.

“Not as impressive as yours” the blonde and surprisingly very attractive shem states, “how does it feel?”

Harellan bites back a nervous sound and looks down at his feet.

“I am afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Some are calling you The Herald of Andraste.” Leliana states in the same matter-of-fact tone she used in the prison cell.

“The chantry of course has denounced you and by association us,” Josephine interjects politely.

They must have noticed the confusion, or perhaps the utter denial and disbelief that surely was plastered over Harellan’s face because Leliana quickly amended and added.

“While you were recovering,” Leliana chose her words carefully this time, “Cassandra declared the Inquisition reborn. We thought it necessary to take control of the situation with the rifts as you are the only one that we know of that can close them. You bear the mark on your hand.” She continues talking about leadership and help and the world being at stake. Harellan wants to listen, wants to pay attention but all he hears is white noise and feels hot fiery rage.

Herald? How can these foolish humans consider him to be a religious figurehead of a god he does not believe in?

“I am not!” He states loudly, louder than he intends and the room falls silent. “I am not some Herald. I cannot be a Herald of anything. I am an elf!” He winces at the echo of his voice and at how desperate he sounds even to his own ears.

“The Maker sent you in our time of need. Yes, you may not believe in what we do, but we believe that he sent you to us when we needed you most. Surely you can understand that this is bigger than you. Bigger than all of us!” Cassandra replies having the audacity to sound like he was the one being unreasonable.

So, if they believe it makes this responsibility alright? Is that not how religious wars have started? Harellan thinks bitterly feeling a sudden urge to run but steadies himself on the table in front of him.

Familiar heat bubbles in his chest again and he glares at the stunned faces around him.

“I don’t get a say in this?” A feeble attempt not to shout. “If you believe it is what I am, then your belief must be true? Do my practices need no consideration?

“You have the mark Lavellan! You have the means to help this world. Did you not agree to help us? Will you hide when so much is at stake? This may not be what you believe in but it may also be divine providence” Cassandra states sharply and Harellan wants to laugh at her complete disregard for his current state. Do they not understand that it would not be divine providence for him? If anything, this feels like his creators played a very cruel joke. He turns to her and Cassandra takes a step back. Fear. He can almost smell it on her. Divine providence indeed!

“Do I get worshipped now? Do I get bowed to? Do I have food and drink brought to me at will? At my command? When just the other day you would have passed me by mistaking me for nothing more than a servant?” He spits out.

Cullen made to speak, raising his hands in a calming and protective gesture. Josephine looks as if she has been slapped and Cassandra looks as if she is about to slap Harellan. The only person in the room not the least bit phased by his unsightly outburst is Leliana who stands with her back straight, and arms crossed over her chest a look of crystal-clear disapproval darkening her features.

“I am an elf!” He shouts and for a moment the room goes dark. The humans stare at him, concern and well-concealed fear hidden behind their eyes. “I am an elf” Harellan repeats desperately. He turns sharply and bolts from the room letting the door bang shut behind him.

Harellan runs, bare feet slapping against the chantry pavement. His chest is on fire and the emptiness inside him sneers and laughs and whines almost painfully as it pulls him in. He pushes the chantry door with his marked hand and the angry green sparks painfully. He winces letting out a small squeal of agony as he runs outside past the starring and mockingly cheering crowds. His eyes dart wildly around him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he bitterly thinks of how close he must resemble a wounded Halla, still strong enough to run, but panicked from the pain and disorientation. He clutches at the shirt material on his chest, fisting it and twisting as his legs move faster. Breath coming out in white puffs of air. In one painful moment he collides with something hard and gasps as the air is pulled out of his lungs. Strong arms wrap around him to steady him and then cold hands grab his biceps.

“What has happened da’len?” The soothing voice of the only other elf here he knows, speaks gently to him, barely above a whisper. Calming him. Calling him back to the present. “You look like a frightened rabbit.” Solas offers a concerned smile.

Harellan looks up at him and he must look frightened or frightening because Solas’ hands grip him tighter and a deep frown creases his features.

“Come with me,” the elf says sternly and leads him into a nearby hut.

Sitting Harellan down on the bed he walks over to a small table and pours some tea in a cup and walking back shoves it in Harellans trembling hands after prying open his fingers that were still clutching onto his shirt.

“Drink, da’len” Solas orders.

The tea smells sweet and when Harellan looks down at the cup he decides that the colour is soothing too. A light peach colour, soft and transparent. He breathes in the warm scent of fruit and herb. 

“Thank you” he whispers bringing the cup to his lips and taking a small sip. The tea tastes of peaches and honey. He smiles to himself and closes his eyes finally letting himself exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harellan! He did not take the news very well. I feel like he is battling between being sad and being very angry, so he comes out sort of "sangry"? haha! More like he comes off desperate.   
> I have written about half of the next chapter and in it, we will find out a little more about why Harellan feels the way he does. Oh and also he will talk about his weird name!   
> I am still figuring out how best to write this. So if it feels at all disjointed that is probably why. I am trying to decide whether I should once again bring in Solas' point of view but I haven't come to a conclusion yet. The next chapter will most likely still be all Harellan.   
> Please leave any comments, criticism is always welcome!   
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas doesn't understand Harellan, but he wants to. Something about this elf doesn't feel quite right and Solas needs to know what that is to keep control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who rewrote this chapter!? That's right! ME!  
> I will stick to the third person past tense from now on. It has taken me some time to figure out how this story should sound and while I don't think I have it 100%, yet, I do believe I am closer than I was before. 
> 
> In this chapter, you get to see Solas' point of view. I thought it would be more interesting to see his reaction to Harellan in this particular case. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! This does not have beta readers so any mistakes that I have made please feel free to point them out. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

There were a good number of things that Solas hated or found irritating. However, the most irritating thing of all was the feeling of impending doom. Or in less dramatic terms, having a bad feeling about something. He fidgeted as he watched Harellan drink his tea. Solas couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that was crawling under his skin and seeping into his bones. 

“What happened da’len?” 

“They want me to be some Herald. Me! I’m an elf, I don’t believe in their god. I can’t!”

“Can’t believe in their god? What does that have to do with being Herald of Andraste?” 

“No. I mean I just can’t be their Herald. And for the record Solas believing in a religious figurehead has a lot to do with being Herald of Andraste. I can’t lie to the world. Position myself as some believer and what do I look like then?” he gave an undignified snort. “I look like what my name is. Harellan, traitor to one’s kin. And to think, Deshanna was simply poking fun at me.”

Solas blinked at him. 

“Is Harellan not your real name?” 

Harellan finished his tea and closed his eyes savouring the taste. He got to his feet and placed the cup on the table where Solas initially retrieved it from. 

“No, it is not.” Harellan turned and leaned one hip against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I do not wish to judge your choices but perhaps starting friendships off with a lie is ill-advised?” 

“Is that what this is, a friendship?” Harellan looked him over, eyes betraying no emotions. “I would tell you my real name if I could. I simply don’t know it. There are many things that I do not know.” 

Solas felt the creeping feeling of unease again. Something about Harellan both invited him in and repelled him. At any rate, it was infuriating listening to him answer questions without actually answering them. 

“So, you do not know your real name? What about your parents?” 

“I am sure they knew my real name Solas, but it would have been helpful if I knew them.”

“You’re an orphan? And your keeper couldn’t think of a better name for you?” Solas raised his hands into the air and let them fall again.

“Yes, yes, the evil Dalish. They kidnap babies and give them ironic names.” Harellan laughed and it was light, harmonious, and so inviting. Solas blinked at the sound, his heart doing an involuntary tug. There was something so familiar. “She found me in the woods, I was rather feral and couldn’t speak a word of common. When Deshanna took me in she raised me herself because no one else could interact with me. I soon learned the common tongue and in turn taught-” Harellan suddenly looked down at the floor and shifted positions. “I taught some others elvish as well” he cleared his throat. 

“But why that name?” 

“At first they didn’t call me anything, she had a pet name for me, however, Revasan, but after I refused my vallaslin she named me Harellan.” 

Solas’ eyes narrowed at the admission about the vallaslin. This was not the first time Harellan mentioned his refusal of the blood writing. 

“Out of curiosity, why did you refuse?” 

“You know Solas, when someone says out of curiosity, they usually mean _I am dying to know_. You have wanted to ask me this ever since I first mentioned my dislike for it, didn’t you?”

“I am certain you have no proof of this.” 

“And I am certain your denial of it is proof enough.” Harellan smiled and for the first time that day, it looked easy and relaxed. “But to answer your question, I don’t know why I refused, something in me just found it revolting. I also didn’t fancy standing for hours while they tattooed lines into my face. Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against tattoos, just on the face seemed painful and very unnecessary.” 

Harellan crossed the room to sit down on the bed again. He gently patted the bedding and frowned at it. Strands of dark hair fell to the side of his face framing it, slowly pale green eyes turned to look at Solas.

“You have tattoos?” Solas asked dumbly and slapped himself mentally for stooping so low. He was far from being a blushing teenager, then why did talking to Harellan leave him so-so stupid! For lack of a better word.

Harellan must have noticed the awkward question because something in his eyes lit up far too mischievously.

“Solas, are you taking advantage of my sorry and flustered state and trying to flirt with me?”

“I-no! I would never” Harellan raised an eyebrow at that, “take advantage that is.”

“So, flirting is not off the table? That is good to know.” Another heart-wrenchingly easy smile. Solas wished that the anchor would have passed onto someone far less dangerous for him to be around. And yet he couldn’t see anyone else possessing it. The anchor was his, Solas’, what did that mean for Harellan? Solas refused to answer that particular question at this moment. “And to answer your question before you combust from embarrassment, yes I have tattoos. Quite a few are on my back.” Harellan added unhelpfully.

“Do you know the meaning of the vallaslin?” Solas asked smartly trying very hard to derail the earlier subject.

“I can’t explain it. I can’t explain most of my life, to be honest.” He gave a weak smile and a breathy laugh as if what he just revealed was a mere nuisance rather than an actual problem. “If you promise to not think me mad, I will tell you that it feels wrong. It has always felt wrong. But something about the vallaslin also feels sad. I wish I knew what it was that I felt.” Those pale green eyes looked at him with all the weight of the world behind the melancholy stare. Harellan looked older somehow, felt older. A sharp sting of nostalgia pierced Solas’ heart. Harellan looked so much like the elves from a time long forgotten. From a time he could never forget. He looked at Solas with sadness in his eyes but also no small degree of dignity and strength. Harellan was not the meek, self-conscious elf of present times. He looked, in that moment, like a king who understood too well the weight of responsibility. It took Solas’ breath away and in an effort to not do or say anything foolish he turned his body away and focused on the window.

The silence between them stretched for what felt like hours. Harellan did not speak, from time-to-time Solas caught him opening his mouth again and immediately shutting it as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Most of the time Harellan stared at his wrists, the pink scars adorning them like shackles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the room was painted in bright red and gold light. Solas shivered and rubbed at his forearms, he was about to stand up to grab a coat when out of thin air sprang whisps of golden light. They circled the room stopping in the corners while three floated delicately above their heads. Solas looked up at the shimmery golden light and reached out an inquisitive hand.

“Those are enchanted embers, I would not touch them unless you wish to be burned” came Harellan’s quiet, low voice. Solas turned to him, eyebrows raised in question.

“You use magic frivolously?”

“I beg your pardon? If you wish to freeze or go poke at the fireplace I am more than happy to take away my frivolous magic.” He took offence.

“I did not mean to offend you, I simply meant that you are unlike the mages I have met. You use magic not only out of necessity but also out of practicality. You do not seem to be afraid of your own magic. It is not a trait usually possessed by a circle mage, or even the overly conservative Dalish. It is surprising and” Solas tried to search for the right word “pleasant.”

“I am willing to argue that keeping you from freezing is a necessity.” Harellan smiled at him and his eyes briefly darted over Solas’ face.

“I am sure you have a reason for keeping me around.”

“Are you a pet?” Harellan laughed and leaned back on the bed. “My reason for _keeping you around_ , as you put it, is because I enjoy your company. Both when I am losing my mind and when I am not.”

Solas desperately fought a blush.

“And when you are the Herald of Andraste, what sort of place will I have then?” Harellan’s face turned suddenly serious and he sat up leaning his elbows on his thighs and shifting his body forward. Dark as night hair slid from his back to fall on either side of his face, Solas hadn’t noticed how long it really was. It must have reached the middle of his back. Something about his posture looked intimidating, imposing.

“I cannot be this Herald of Andraste, not for them, not for you, not for anyone. I will close these rifts for as long as I am able to. I will help. And as for what place I will have for you? You can choose whatever place you wish. I have no control over your actions. However, if you mean that you feel unsafe with me or anyone else who is now part of this…inquisition…then I implore you to come and tell me.”

“I do believe you have more leadership skills than you allow yourself to accept. I simply wonder what type of leader you will be.”

Harellan placed a hand over his chest and attempted to hide a wince of pain. Despite how badly Solas wanted to ask about it he decided to refrain, this was not a conversation that needed to be derailed.

“I plan to not be a leader at all Solas. They can decide the fate of their shemlen world.”

“And what of the elven world da’len?” Solas all but snapped.

“What of it? It wanted me less than the shem one does. Sure it didn’t place me in physical shackles but sometimes the shackles you cannot see are the most tight.”

Solas frowned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Harellan, explain what you mean. I am tired of you talking in riddles.”

“ _You_ , are asking me to not talk in riddles? You!” Dark eyebrows shot up and a crooked smile pulled at Harellan’s lips. “I mean that my time in the Lavellan clan was not all running around half-naked in the forest, chasing Halla, and bringing back bears to feast on.”

Solas did not need to benefit from an image of a shirtless Harellan gently soothing a scared Halla. But he continued.

“I was not welcome among most of them. It wasn’t only because of my refusal of the vallaslin, although that did not help, it was my-” Harellan suddenly stopped and sat up wringing his hands together. He bit down on his lower lip and averted his gaze.

“Yes? It was your what?” Solas urged on.

“It doesn’t matter, Solas.” He suddenly sounded so angry. “What happened with the Dalish did not matter then and does not matter now. There is no point in digging up my past.” Harellan made to get up, but there was only so much secrecy Solas was able to tolerate. There was, after all, no room for two very secretive elves in this establishment. One needed to be eliminated. If Solas needed to keep even some modicum of control over this mess of a situation then he needed to know more about Harellan and waiting for him to feel nice and cozy about it was no longer an option. He reached out and placed a steadying hand on the other elf’s shoulder, his skin was warm from the heating whisps that trembled over their heads as Harellan startled into standing still. Solas grip tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to translate the message of he was not allowing Harellan to run from his responsibilities.

“It was your what?” Solas hissed. “You can run from Cassandra, from Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. But you cannot and will not run from me Harellan.” It was not a threat, not really, it was more imploring than Solas had initially wanted his words to sound.

“And who is going to stop me?” Harellan turned to face him, his chest mere inches away from Solas’, his gaze flickered with momentary anger. He looked down at him and Solas remembered suddenly just how tall Harellan was. “Will you try to stop me? Will you chain me and bind me like they tried to do?”

“I am not frightened of you Harellan.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“I will not let you run from this responsibility. You need someone you can confide in. Why can’t it be me?”

“Because I do not need a babysitter!”

“Then perhaps you need a friend. Have I not proven my loyalty Harellan?”

“Loyalty is fickle” he spat out.

“And you are a fool who turns down friendship because you are too scared to face the truth.”

The warming embers flickered and died in a beautiful cascade of glowing yellow powder. The room around them grew immediately cold. Shadows emerged from every corner of the room and slowly crawled to envelope around them. They were standing in near-perfect darkness, and somehow Harellan’s body and face were still lit enough for Solas to make out who was in front of him. The other elf smiled, it was a cold, angry, and dangerous smile. Then all turned to darkness. The black emptiness took Solas by surprise and he immediately lifted his hands and pushed against what he hoped was still Harellan’s chest. He was immobile. Strong arms grabbed him by the forearms and a voice, low and smooth like honey whispered in his ear.

“ _I am no fool. When one plays with fire one gets burned. Tell me Solas,_ ” the voice was now coming from behind him, whispering in melodic elvish in his other ear. Solas realized embarrassingly late that this was Harellan’s voice, “ _what happens to those that play with the darkness?”_ The voice was the sweetest poison, alluring and yet it sent tendrils of fear throughout Solas’ entire body. The last time he felt so alive was -.

“ _I will tell you then, my friend”_ freezing fingers slid down Solas’ arms and wrapped around his wrists. He could not move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see. His heart hammered so loudly that he was afraid it would burst from his chest. This frail, useless body! Solas thought desperately. Had he his original form, his original power -.

“ _Those that play with the darkness invite demons._ ” Suddenly everything felt cold and empty, his wrists were free, and it was melancholy freedom. Solas was entirely alone, standing in the middle of a black void.

“Harellan?” He called out but his only reply was his echo. With a loud hiss the darkness dissipated and Solas tumbled to the floor unceremoniously. His hut was cold, the embers gone. The light from the moon and the dying fire provided some illumination. Enough to notice that Harellan was no longer there. Solas’ mind twisted around what he had witnessed. He berated himself for being so childishly swept up in – was that even magic, it felt thicker and more potent than any magic he witnessed before. He should not have let himself be so taken in by a few cheap parlour tricks. Yes, that is what they must have been. It could be nothing else, simple glamour spells that meant to frighten little children. He could not be hasty; he could not rush to conclusions. He remembered the stifling darkness, the iron hold of Harellan’s fingers. The sweet intoxicating sound of his voice. His magic, far too powerful to be anything he could have learned from the Dalish. He still felt it on his skin, it felt like leather and smelled of smoke (if one could even describe the scent and feel of magic), but there was something else that Solas had felt, something beneath the leathery surface of his spells. Solas ran a shaking hand over his face.

Jumping to conclusions so quickly was hazardous. But the only conclusion that invited itself in was that Harellan was somehow a demon. And that was far too complicated a possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who the heck is Harellan!?!? Solas definitely does not have a single clue, but he is definitely intrigued. 
> 
> Harellan does have a temper so writing him as being quick to anger was not surprising, but Solas has a temper too. I always thought this, even when playing the game. I think you see it most in his jabs at the Dalish. I like writing Solas as someone that is argumentative and isn't afraid to say something to someone's face, even if that face belongs to the future Herald of Andraste. Considering who Solas is, this type of personality is not out of character. 
> 
> ps. I found it hilarious when Solas suddenly remembers that there are elves currently in existence!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas finally gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Another chapter! I just want to take a moment and explain why it takes me forever to update and why the updates are all over the place. I work full time and have full-time classes that I take, this schedule means that although I am stuck at home during quarantine my time is taken up by both work and studying. I write these chapters when I have time and when I am able to get ahead in my studies. This is by no means an excuse, just an explanation that if a certain update takes longer, it isn't because I don't care about this story it is simply because I have become busier.   
> Thank you to everyone who reads this and please don't ever think that I have abandoned the story if my updates take too long. 
> 
> Some story notes at the end of the chapter.

Avoiding someone, Harellan decided, was a lot easier when he was named Herald of Andraste. Between going to find some revered mother, reaching out to the mages in Redcliffe and getting stuck in a different timeline due to a madman’s time trinket experiment, one found themselves far too occupied to consider even speaking to a certain elf one was trying very hard to avoid. Of course, going forward in time with a devastatingly handsome shemlen mage and having him so endearingly tell him that he will protect him, was a decent distraction. Coming back to Haven with a band of previously displaced mages was less alluring. It wasn’t unlike trying to herd halla, some were more courageous than the others and were curious about a possible interaction with another being, however, some simply ran around trying to find any way to escape, pupils blown wide in gaping eyes. Circle mages were very much like the scared halla, Harellan decided.

He stepped through the gates of Haven feeling tired, dirty, nauseous, and extremely irritable. The people seemed a little less focused on him now. Less obsessive which was a very nice change. Cullen greeted him at the gates asking about the mission, Harellan grunted that there will be more mages arriving every day and that he should be prepared. Without excusing himself he shouldered his way through the soldiers and sped down the trail to get to his cabin. The one good thing that he did gain from becoming Herald was getting his wish of a remote cabin. The cabin belonging to some long-lost herbalist or medic or something and was refurbished and given to him as a sort of gift. It was a quiet spot, some woods in front and shielded from the prying eyes of the crazy and devout. Only the gentle squeak of the occasional small animal to keep him company.

As he walked down the path to his hut, dreaming of sinking his aching limbs into the warmth of a much-awaited bath (after he all but begged Josephine to procure him a relatively small tub that he could at least sit in), he spotted a familiar figure standing in the distance. He was wearing grey robes that were meant more for travel than leisure and his face was contorted into something akin to anger. Harellan swallowed involuntarily feeling nervous. This was not a good time for them to talk, or meet, or even look at one another. Solas crossed to the path and situated himself in Harellan’s way, blocking his entrance to the house. The clever bastard knew not to provoke a scene with too many onlookers.

It had been a month and a half since they last talked. Harellan was sure to come back to Haven and escape practically as soon as he got there. Speaking mostly to Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra whom he often took on missions with him. For weeks he had been avoiding Solas.

“Move aside Solas!” Harellan growled pushing down his feeling of nausea. “I am not in the mood.”

“I find it ironic that you are angry with me when I consider myself to be the victim of circumstance.”

“I am not in the mood for discussing anything right now.”

“You owe me an explanation.”

“I owe you nothing” Harellan reached out to push Solas aside by his shoulder but Solas gripped his arm and pushed him back instead. His head jerked and the pain of a headache blossomed in his temples.

“Don’t you dare touch me” Solas hissed.

Something curious snapped in Harellan’s mind and he took a step back as if Solas had just doused him in flames. His arm shot back and his eyes widened. His mark sparked violently, the emptiness roared to life and the slow aching feeling began to pulse within his chest. He grasped at it involuntarily wincing at the building ache inside him. His chest burned, constricted. _Don’t you dare touch me_ echoed in his head. It sounded familiar and painful. He looked up at Solas who appeared to be just as surprised as he was at his own reaction.

“I have to go!” Harellan shoved past him.

“If you do not tell me what is going on I will be forced to reach my own conclusion and speak with Cassandra,” Solas called out.

Harellan wished the ringing in his ears would stop. The echoing of those vile words bounced inside his head. The void inside him screamed like a wild banshee. Instinctively he put his hands over his ears.

“Fen’Harel ma halam” Harellan whispered, his mark sparked violently, he let out a muffled yell and everything went black.

*

It was dark when he woke up. He blinked noticing the light of the candles illuminate his home. Was this home? He didn’t know the answer to that yet. Harellan felt weak and the empty void inside him wheezed and whaled quietly as if it were a wounded animal. The screaming had stopped but his head throbbed. The candlelight made it better, the soft dancing flames and the gentle yellow light soothed his eyes. The smell of a wood cabin made him feel like he was back in the Dalish camp when he would lie awake at night staring up the sky and inhaling the scent of the forest. There was nothing more beautiful than a forest undisturbed by civilization. He did not miss the camp, but he missed the freedom it bought him.

Solas sat in the chair beside his bed reading a book that Harellan didn’t remember if he had in his possession before. He watched the candlelight dance over Solas’ face. His grey eyes scanned the pages quickly, he was concentrated but this was also the most relaxed Harellan had seen him. Solas’ appeared peaceful. It was a good look on him.

“This is becoming a habit for us,” Harellan whispered, careful not to disturb the peaceful silence. As Solas looked up from his reading, the candles all around the room grew brighter. “That is a nice trick.” The elf added.

“Which habit are you referring to, avoiding my questions or me having to bring you back from the dead, because I would prefer both of those to disappear.”

“You are angry at me” Harellan stated simply and received an irritated scoff in reply. Solas stared down at him, grey eyes that seemed to now have hints of brown in them that Harellan had definitely never seen before, looked concerned? Worried? His features betrayed no displeasure but why did his eyes look so panicked.

“I am a bit more than angry at you.”

“I feel as if I deserve it.”

“What you deserve is to be set in front of a dragon with no staff or armour” Solas snapped.

“I would still win. I would win and bring you back an armour made of pure dragon scales” Harellan replied weakly.

“You do not get to joke.” The light around the room dimmed again throwing more shadows at the walls.

Harellan wondered if it had anything to do with the soft rose that coloured Solas’ pale, slightly freckled cheeks. He smiled as he turned his head to look up at the ceiling. The trees outside swayed gently in the wind and their shadows danced merrily across the ceiling. Somehow, this comforted him.

“I was not joking. You would look regal.” He didn’t have to see the surprise on Solas’ face, he heard it instead in the undignified laugh he let loose and the way he shifted in his chair.

“The healing spell must have addled your brains.”

Harellan turned to look at Solas who quickly averted his gaze and instead decided to flip through his book. He continued to watch him, his eyebrows were furrowed the pink still stained his cheeks and his eyes never concentrated on any pages that he looked at. But finally, he looked up at Harellan and stilled. Eyes that were just moments ago unfocussed were now zeroed in on him completely. His mouth turned down, he licked his lips and forced them instead into a straight line. He appeared almost unreadable. But that concern buried deep inside his gaze still betrayed him. Concern and perhaps fear. Harellan closed his eyes breaking the intense contact and lifted his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. He did not want Solas to fear him. _Don’t you dare touch me._ Rang painfully in his ears again and as if on reflex he winced.

“What is the matter da’len?”

Harellan opened his eyes in time to see Solas reach forward and then pull his hand away as he noticed him looking.

“I am scared” Harellan whispered so quietly he wasn’t sure Solas would hear.

“What of?”

“The mark.”

The look on Solas’ face changed immediately. To state that it had gone sour would be a horrific understatement. Instead, it went from concerned to immediately mortified. The expression lasted for half a second, Solas schooled his features into something horrifyingly indifferent.

“What do you mean?” He asked slowly.

“I have reason to believe the mark is eating away at my magic.”

Solas frowned down at him and shook his head in frustration.

“For once, please simply explain,” he said.

“There is a lot I don’t understand” Harellan began “a lot that I don’t know myself, but I will tell you all I can.”

“That would be wise.”

How wise it was Harellan did not know, but in the very least telling Solas was necessary. He was the only person studying the mark and the only one familiar with the magic. He could try to help. Maybe.

“I don’t know any way to phrase this without sounding like a pompous idiot, but my magic is, in short, quite powerful. I was not made first because Deshanna was scared of what I could possibly do. I always suspected she was simply scared of me though. My magic was always different. While it can do much good, it can also cause terrible destruction. Before when I was young and didn’t know how to control it, I would call on a thunderstorm every time I was sad. The first few times we all thought it was a coincidence, but after the fifteenth, we decided that it probably wasn’t. When I would get angry, I would cause firestorms, after a particularly bad fight with Deshanna I set, by accident, five of our halla on fire, and all our tents and aravels. I don’t know how I wasn’t excommunicated. I frightened everyone. I could also pull on the darkness, pull it towards me, wrap it around me, hide in it, scream and shout in it and no one would hear me, no one would see me. I would disappear for hours there when I was sad, furious, sometimes even when I was happy. It comforted me. In it I could create worlds, when it is around me, I can fill it with whatever I choose. It is like being in the fade but completely awake. When I told Deshanna, she forbade me from ever using it. She forbade me from using magic in general. I was to only practice concentration and wielding my emotions with her. So when they captured me, when I woke up to handcuffs, a dark room, a cold stone floor, and a woman screaming in my face demanding answers I did not have, I felt that familiar anger and I panicked because I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t calm myself” Harellan looked away again closing his eyes tight. “I was about to-” he cut himself off.

There was silence for a long moment until Solas shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“You were about to kill everyone, but the firestorm never came, instead you simply burned through your cuffs and your skin.”

“It would have been an inferno; I was so frightened that I was losing every ounce of control.”

Solas got up from his chair and crossed to the small table in the room. He took a jug of water and poured it into a cup taking a few large gulps. Harellan bit down on his lip as he watched him. His whole back was tense, his posture not betraying his displeasure, confusion, anger, resentment? Harellan wasn’t sure. Perhaps this was a huge mistake. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should have kept his mouth shut, he should have kept all of this to himself. When Solas turned his eyes scanned Harellan’s lying form and the elf couldn’t help but fidget beneath the cool gaze. He propped himself up on his elbows and raised an eyebrow wanting so much to ask what Solas thought but his throat was too dry from the possibility that Solas would somehow fear him or resent him.

“I concluded some weeks ago that you were possessed,” Solas replied and looked down at the floor, a flicker of shame in his expression.

What does one even reply to that?

“Is that why you threatened me with going to Cassandra?”

“Yes” came Solas’ quiet reply.

“And now?”

Solas inhaled and exhaled through his nose and clasped his hands behind his back. He considered Harellan for a few more minutes, chewed on his bottom lip, and Harellan felt at the mercy of his scrutiny. Too worried to urge for an answer. Too sure the answer would be disappointing.

“I do not believe you are possessed but I must admit I don’t quite understand. What you are describing sounds like a heavily amplified version of both lightning and fire magic. However, I have not encountered anyone in the fade or otherwise who has possessed these types of powers. The darkness that you speak of confuses me entirely. I felt it around me when you lost your temper. It felt different it felt thicker somehow.” Solas paused and looked around the room as if nervous “your magic is not something I have felt in a long time. It felt alive. It was fascinating. Hearing you explain your-” he paused for a moment considering his words “situation, I wonder if this darkness is some form of amplified necromancy.”

Harellan stared at him not hiding the surprised look that must have been plastered to his face. Solas was inquisitive, curious, interested even, but not judgmental. Harellan winced as the emptiness in him whined again. No one had ever shown interest in him before, not in this way. Everyone was usually scared or told him to stop doing whatever it was he did. Even Deshanna, the closest person he had to a parent or guardian was often frightened of him. Harellan fell back on the bed and screwed his eyes shut placing his arm over his face. This was ridiculous. How could a grown man be so taken aback by simple questions? By simple reflection of his state. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he berated himself for being so weak, so sensitive. This was not kindness he told himself, this was simple academic curiosity. It had to be!

“Did I upset you?” Solas’ voice sounded closer now.

“No,” Harellan said quietly “I simply didn’t expect your words or your reaction.”

Solas fell silent for a few moments before asking surprisingly sternly “Harellan, can you look at me please?”

Harellan obeyed and hoped that his eyes didn’t look as teary as they felt. This fade magic was doing all sorts of unpleasant things to his body. If anything, this would be the perfect thing to blame his emotional state on.

“Did the Dalish hurt you?” Solas’ eyes grew hard and serious. Harellan wanted to shrink away from that steely glance, there was something predatory in it. Something dangerous.

“Solas I- I- can we get back to the mark? I feel it is more of a pressing matter than my relationship with the Dalish.”

Solas nodded then looked down at Harellan’s hands. He reached out gently taking the marked hand in his. Solas’ fingers were cool and surprisingly soft save for the callouses where he naturally held his staff. He uncurled Harellan’s fingers and examined the mark.

“Why do you think it is eating away at your magic rather than simply restricting it?”

“I feel like my magic is growing weaker, I felt it in the Hinterlands, every time I cast a spell it feels like little ribbons of magic escape from me. I am constantly tired as if I never replenished my mana and when I take lyrium potions I usually end up throwing them up.”

Solas placed Harellan’s hand back on the bed, fingers lingering briefly on his scarred wrists. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He sat back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling with the same searching expression, his eyes darted from left to right as if he was reading some unseen passage. He frowned, shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You must promise me something.”

“Yes?”

“Promise me that from now on you will take me on your missions, I will need to study the effects of the mark on your magic. I can’t do that if all I have for information is recollection.”

Harellan nodded in agreement and suppressed a yawn with his mark-free hand.

“Sleep.”

He closed his eyes attempting to mumble an agreement, but sleep was pulling him fast into its soft embrace. He felt Solas’ magic create heat around his body and the gentle soothing song of healing hummed in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let's talk story! The story is taking a little bit of time to pick up, in my opinion, but it will really soon. In the next couple of chapters, I plan for Harellan to get to Skyhold so please be advised that after arrival at Skyhold the story will deviate significantly from the main course of action in the game. Maybe not immediately when Harellan walks through the gates but you get my point. :P There may be some deviation from the story before we get to Skyhold but it won't be anything entirely plot changing. I still have to decide whether I want a certain event to take place or not, that will depend on how much I move away from the way the main events happen.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. Please leave comments if you think I did something awful and it needs changing or if you just want to say hi. :D Everything is appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of druffalos and demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! Another chapter. I can't say I am totally happy with this, but one must find a reasonable time to stop agonizing. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It was sunny at Redcliffe Farms when Harellan decided to pay the farmers a visit. The birds tweeted merely. The nearby river whooshed in the distance. The slow neighing of horses and the low moo of the druffalo created a peaceful harmony in the no longer demon infested area. And Dorian Pavus walked behind him and continued to incessantly complain about every creator forsaken thing.

“Does it always smell of manure when it is this hot? It is positively boiling!” Pavus exclaimed fanning himself with his hand. Harellan decided he was difficult to like, but he was even more difficult to hate. Something about the ceaseless complaining and throwing around of the spoiled and snobby remarks was endearing. It made Harellan wonder if it was all an act or if he would have to endearingly ask him to not volunteer for missions if he couldn’t grow a spine.

“Careful Pavus your Magister is showing” Harellan called over his shoulder.

“It is Altus, Herald, and please don’t yell that.”

“Oh I know, but I meant what I said. And perhaps if you wore something other than leather trousers and leather shirt you would come to the enlightening conclusion that the heat is much more bearable in either cotton or linen.”

“And risk having some beast damage this perfect body? I think not! However, I am flattered you pay attention to my leather trousers.” Dorian smirked and Harellan couldn’t help but hold back a laugh and an eye-roll.

“I think you’re confusing noticing with being impressed” he chuckled and turned around so that he was facing the rest of the group and walking backwards. He swung his arms behind his head and adjusted his braid.

“Your Herald has a tongue on him,” Dorian remarked with mock hurt as Solas fell in line with him.

“He is not _my_ Herald,” Solas remarked cooly and when Harellan raised a questioning eyebrow proceeded to avoid his gaze entirely.

“You have a testy group of companions here” Dorian glanced over at Solas who’s expression had soured considerably since they got to the farms.

“Are you not used to hearing elves talk back to you?” Solas asked sarcastically.

Dorian gaped and his brows knitted, his lips turned down into something very close to a frown. Harellan noticed he was dangerously close to replying when Varric, wonderful, talkative Varric who knew how to read the room (or the farm) better than anyone Harellan had ever met before, interjected.

“Okay, kids let’s stop fighting over the Herald’s attention and see about this notice he keeps talking to me about.” Of course, Harellan expected everything but to hear _that_. As he digested the words that came out of Varric’s mouth, his left foot caught on his right and he came tumbling down, landing very not gracefully, right on his ass. Both Solas and Dorian started towards him then stopped almost simultaneously as Cassandra shoved past them and stretched out her arm.

Harellan burst into a fit of belly-aching laughter as he reached out to Cassandra who hauled him up to his feet. He dusted himself off still laughing although now mainly to himself.

“You must be more careful Herald” Cassandra chided.

“Not to worry, a little dust and dirt never killed anyone. And I’ve had my fair share of tumbles back in my day.” He smiled as her face went beet red and Dorian let out a bark of almost high-pitched laughter. “Oh, creators!” Harellan backpedalled trying extremely hard not to laugh along with Dorian and now Varric who snickered behind a flabbergasted Solas, “that isn’t what I meant. Not to say that I haven’t done _that_ type of tumbling. I just meant falling. Just falling.” He turned on his heel, hand promptly clapping over his mouth to stop the burst of inopportune giggles as he sped towards the druffalo farm. When had laughing become so easy around these people?

Harellan stared at the notice about a missing druffalo named Druffy and as the rest of his companions approached poked the notice feverishly.

“We must go find her. There are wolves and possibly demons still. There is that bloody rift near the waterfall, we cannot let her die.”

“I didn’t peg you for an animal lover” Varric retorted starring up at the notice with a look of concentration creasing his brows.

“I happen to love animals very much” Harellan replied “after an-“ he looked up at Solas who watched him with an expression he could not describe. He remembered telling him about the Halla he killed as a child. Remembered how devastating it felt, how disgusting. “It doesn’t matter, I just like animals. All animals!” He walked past them gesturing for the rest to follow as he started at a run towards the rift and cluster of demons.

*

Harellan panted as he raced across the water. The waterfall did little to drown out the screeching of the demons. Behind him Solas threw ice spells at the monsters, Dorian doused them in bright purple lightning, Varric pelted them with arrows and Cassandra’s long sword cut through everything it could reach. And still, still, it was not enough. He stood directly beneath the Rift, it was high but maybe the magic in his mark could reach it.

“Solas, a barrier!” He called out and almost immediately felt the yelling, screeching, and the sound of running water dull around the edges. He felt Solas’s barrier, it was weaker from overexertion, but it felt warm inside. He stuck out his hand, his mark sparked, the green light came from his palm and instantly died down. Harellan swore loudly. He looked around catching sight of some rocks he could climb right beside the waterfall. It was high and steep and the drop would most definitely be unpleasant. He sighed and twisted his body once more, buying himself as much time as he could while Solas held the barrier in place. Nothing! He had to climb. His eyes landed on Solas’ questioning expression. They looked at each other for a moment and Harellan made the mistake of glancing towards the rocks behind him. He watched as Solas’ eyes widened. Harellan quickly twisted, pushed through the barrier and ran towards the rocks. He needed the element of surprise. If Solas kept casting magical barriers at him the demons would be drawn to the magic.

“Harellan, no!” He could hear the slapping of feet behind him.

He turned his head to see Solas run after him “help the others!” Harellan whipped out his staff and sent a bolt of fire at the demon creeping up behind Solas. “Help yourself! I’ll be fine!”

He attacked the rocks with surprising ferocity, climbing up as quickly as his tired arms and legs would allow him. The top was covered in grass and moss and the mist from the waterfall made the entire thing much too slippery. He walked to the edge, stuck his hand out again and the anchor connected to the rift. It was working!

A deafening shriek behind him broke his concentration. Harellan’s palms flew to his ears as he doubled over from the noise. He managed to turn in time for the terror demon to knock him back. He slid and his left foot went over the edge causing him to fall to this knees. Barely managing to steady himself on the slippery surface he grabbed for his staff but the demon’s long arms knocked him across the chest and arms and the staff dropped to the rocks below him with a loud snap.

“Herald!” He heard Dorian’s voice first but immediately felt Solas’ barrier. It was weak, too weak to hold the demon back but strong enough to allow him to find some balance. The demon screeched as one of Varric’s arrows lodged itself in it’s bony, disgusting shoulder. Then it lunged forward. Harellan was ready, however. With all the strength body would allow he forced himself forward, forcing the demon back and away from the edge. His feet slid on the slippery grass but he kept pushing. The demon’s claws ripped at his tunic, ripped at his skin and he could feel the warm trickle of blood down his arms.

“Harellan!” Solas yelled from somewhere much closer, somewhere at the bottom of the cliff. He attempted to freeze the demon but the ugly creature broke through his ice, whaling in pain.

Cassandra grunted from below attempting to climb the rocks but her armour was not made for climbing slippery surfaces.

“Do something!” Harellan could hear her round on the rest of them. “Dorian set it no fire!”

“I-I can’t without accidentally setting the Herald on fire as well.”

“We can’t hit it, Seeker, without accidentally injuring the Herald” Varric provided loudly and more irritably than Harellan had ever heard before. 

“We cannot just do nothing.”

“He will handle it” Varric replied, “he has to.”

The demon suddenly took a step back and got to its full height causing Harellan to fall forward. He scrambled up to his feet as the demon’s arm extended and pushed hard against his chest. Harellan opened his mouth to yell but the wind was knocked out of him as he fell back his head landing far too close to the edge. The demon leaped landing on top of him. He was heavy and everything about his body hurt. Harellan whined from the impact, still not enough air in his lungs to make sufficient noise. The demon got down on its knees, face close to his as its ugly mouth hang open. It’s arms extended and grabbed him by the shoulders, ready to devour him, kill him. He stared into its formless face and the world seemed to fall away. The frightened shouting of his companions, the waterfall, the rushing water, the wind, the trees, everything fell away and he could feel the silence as thick as butter. Harellan’s arms shot out and he grabbed the demon’s face between his palms, fingers digging painfully into its flesh. The emptiness inside him roared to life and whaled painfully as it ripped through him. His palms felt hot, his fingers tingled from the use of magic. The demon atop of him thrashed and screeched. His skin fumed and bubbled beneath Harellan’s fingers until it suddenly went limp.

Harellan let out a violent cry and pushed the demon off of himself. For a moment everything looked too bright. He pushed himself onto his knees, nausea overwhelming him, and hurled onto the grass. He wiped his mouth with his hand then looked down at the grass and he felt glad that he was up here alone. Alone and extremely exhausted. The substance left on the grass and the back of his hand was black. He closed his eyes and wiped his hand on a clean spot of moss. The emptiness inside him whined and thrashed painfully. Beside him, the demon lay with its ugly face distorted more by blood and charred skin. Harellan, with some effort, pushed himself up to his feet, extended his arm one more time and connected the anchor to the rift. His mark sparked again and the rift exploded as it disappeared taking the rest of the demon bodies with it.

Slowly he made his way down to the bottom, carefully setting his feet on each rock so that he would not slip and break his spine. Pushing past his companions he ran towards the place his staff fell, dropping to his knees he picked up the two pieces of wood that just moments ago connected to make his staff. Broken, split in half, a grim reminder of what his body could have looked like should the drop prove fatal.

“Don’t fret kid, I’m sure they’ll make a new one for you back at Haven” Varric tinkered with Bianca before slinging her over his shoulder.

“Herald” Cassandra placed a gentle hand on his shoulder “your arms, you’re injured.”

The pain in his biceps suddenly blossomed and he winced at the reminder. Dropping his broken staff back into the water he grabbed at the shoulders of his tunic and ripped off the tattered sleeves. He cupped a handful of water and cleaned both of his arms, the cool water soothing the reddened, irritated, and bleeding skin.

As he got to his feet and turned Cassandra helpfully held out a healing potion.

“Thank you” he downed it immediately. Cassandra took a careful step back and he realized that despite her offering help her face looked worried, almost scared. Harellan looked around at the faces of the other companions. Dorian looked inquisitive as if he wanted to ask questions. Varric looked far too concerned and Solas as always looked expressionless. He simply watched him, his eyes running over the wounds on his arms.

“Lyrium potion to replenish your magic.” Dorian offered, pointing down at his satchel.

Harellan looked inside realizing that none of his lyrium potions were open. He had packed them for appearance’s sake, not wanting his companions to know that the stuff made him violently sick. And with the black goop he threw up moments ago he reckoned having the rest of his team witness the same thing would probably cause too many questions. Probably all the questions that he asked himself but could never answer.

“I am okay, thank you Dorian.”

“You should rest Herald” Solas soundlessly appeared beside him, eyes still focused on his marked-up arms.

“We need to find the druffalo.”

“You can’t possibly be serious!” Dorian exclaimed.

“Haven’t been more serious in all my life. You are welcome to head back to camp if you wish.” He snapped and winced internally at the obvious overreaction. Despite the surprised look on Dorian’s face Harellan turned around and marched towards the other bank. “I am finding that druffalo, if anyone wants to head back to camp they are more than welcome to do so.”

*

They found Druffy standing behind some rocks munching absent-mindedly on a tuft of grass. It mooed as it saw them and eyed Harellan wearily. Despite his invitation for everyone to go back to camp, no one did, but Harellan asked them to stay a little bit behind him as he carefully approached the large animal.

The druffalo stared at him, blinking slowly, completely unafraid. He smiled at it; the life of a domestic animal must have been good if it was so used to people. Slowly he reached out and placed a hand on the top of its head and the animal gently nudged him.

“We should get you home Druffy” he whispered and slowly started walking back to the farm, leading Druffy behind him. Harellan knelt to pick up some grass and from time to time turned to feed the druffalo to encourage it to move forward. The cuts and bruises that now started forming on his arms stung and ached consistently, but the quiet, warm presence of the gentle beast beside him made him feel calm.

His companions did not speak to him, and he hoped it was because they knew he needed space, rather than because they were too annoyed at his desire to help the animal. Cassandra walked quietly behind him. Dorian and Varric chatted in hushed voices. Solas kept glancing in his direction an unreadable expression plastered to his face.

When they finally walked Druffy home the farmer was far too overjoyed.

“You are with the inquisition yes?”

Harellan nodded tiredly.

“Thank you so much for returning my Druffy to me. I don’t know what I would have done without her. Wait here please!”

The man ran inside and came back with a small pouch, he held it out to Harellan.

“What is this?” Harellan asked.

“A-a small payment. I don’t have much but I hope that this will be enough.”

“It is gold?” Harellan raised an eyebrow. He could feel the eyes of his companions on him.

“Yes, sir, it is” the man looked deflated, embarrassed for a reason Harellan could not understand. “I know it isn’t much but-”

“I won’t take payment” Harellan snapped more viciously than he had meant to. The farmer jumped back, coins jingling in the purse. “Put that away immediately. I will not take payment for finding a lost animal.”

“But sir, your companions and you- Your arms sir” the man nodded towards his sleeveless arms “we know what you did for us. You more than just found an animal you cleared the waterfall of demons.”

“I am not accepting this money, and it is final.”

The man looked at him wide-eyed and a little lost. He glanced down at the pouch seeming determined to make Harellan take it. Harellan sighed and reached out to grab the man’s hands in his closing them around the purse and holding them firmly in place.

“You need this money more than I do,” he said sternly. “Look at me. I am a Dalish elf, everything I ever owned I made myself or traded for something of the same value. I can hunt my food, make my own home, sew my clothes. My lifestyle does not provide a necessity for money. I do not need it. The inquisition has enough to support it and will not take funds from those who can barely afford to give it freely.” Harellan let go of his hands and took a step back. “Keep it and spend it the way you see fit. Your offer is more than generous.”

The man stared at him perplexed before he let out a bark of hearty laughter and clapped his hands together causing the druffalo to stir and gently moo in their enclosure.

“The Maker appointed the right Herald to save us from this war” the man bowed, thanked them and retreated into his home.

Harellan sighed wearily. He was so helplessly tired. The emptiness inside him throbbed and whined dully.

“That was very generous Herald” Cassandra was the first to speak as he started heading back to camp.

“It was merely sensible. It was the right thing to do. We have no use for his money, and he had to fix his roof.”

“Where I come from, they probably would have taken the money and told them that he owes them more for their troubles” Dorian chimed in cheerfully.

Harellan glanced at Solas who walked quietly beside him. The sun began to set a while ago and the moon now shone brightly in the sky. It cast a pearlescent glow behind Solas, making Solas’ skin radiate an almost silver light. Harellan wondered what he thought of when he went quiet. Did he disapprove of his actions today? Would he tell him he was being careless? Did he notice him vomit? A heavy feeling settled in his stomach, a reminder that something was not right.

“It was indeed an act of generosity, you should not hide it behind rational decisions” Solas turned, his silver eyes bright and clear in the light of the moon, he smiled before looking ahead once more.

Something warm swelled in Harellan’s chest.

They lit a campfire and Varric began to cook some stew which Harellan graciously declined. Cassandra was barking orders at Varric about the food and Dorian kept throwing snide remarks at both of them. Harellan smiled quietly to himself as he set down his pouch inside his tent. When he was sure everyone was too busy to notice him he slipped out and headed for the river. He climbed on top of the rocks where he fought the demon and sat cross-legged staring up at the moon. Tonight, it was big and round and provided enough light to see much of the land that opened up in front of him. The water shimmered as if made of white gold and reflected the stars and moon above him.

Soft footsteps fell on the grass behind him. At first, he bristled at the sound but then the familiar smell of Solas’ magic enveloped the space around him.

“You must rest Herald.”

“Is it Herald now?”

“One must posture themselves accordingly” Solas stood behind him, casting him in shadow.

“If you have come to lecture me I do not have the energy for it.”

Solas walked around and sat beside him. He placed his pouch on the floor and produced cloth and a small bottle. He uncorked the bottle and poured some of the liquid on the cloth. Gently he took Harellan’s arm with cold fingers.

“This may sting a little,” he said quietly and pressed the cloth to the cuts. Harellan hissed, gritting his teeth. Stinging a little in Solas’ speak must have meant stinging like someone held a torch to his skin. However, he remained motionless, watching as Solas’ long, careful fingers held the cloth as he gingerly patted the cuts. “The wounds must be clean before I seal them.” The gentle sensation of healing magic emanated from Solas’ hands and the dull ache of the bruises, along with the stinging slowly started to dissipate. Wordlessly Solas stood and walked around him again to sit on his other side and repeat the process. Once he was done he put away the cloth and bottle and stretched out his legs until they hung over the edge of the cliff.

“Why did you come?”

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“Your wounds needed attention.”

“And?”

Solas sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “You are careless.”

“Thanks for letting me down easy” Harellan gave a humourless chuckle.

“You rushed into a battle over a druffalo and nearly got yourself killed by a demon. None of us were in a position to save you. You cannot afford such carelessness. Not when you are-”

“Not when I am what?” He turned his head to look at Solas.

“Not when you are the Herald and you have the key to closing the rifts” Solas continued to stare ahead. His eyebrows were knitted together and his mouth a straight, sullen line.

“I did not die!”

“You got sick after using your magic. Don’t assume you hid it well.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

Solas huffed and pulled at some grass beneath his fingers. “You don’t attempt to put any effort into yourself. You haven’t eaten, you probably won’t sleep. And this happens every time you’re out on a mission. Something is making you sick Harellan and you do nothing to address it.”

Harellan closed his eyes and the emptiness whined back at him. “Stop clucking at me Solas.”

“Maybe when you stop acting like a child.”

Harellan turned his head away and crossed his arms over his chest, berating himself for probably looking just like the child that Solas had accused him of being. Something warm and soft was placed in his lap. It broke his concentration and he looked down to find a small something wrapped in a handkerchief. He reached out to slowly pull at the edges to reveal some bread, and beside it a bit of cheese. Next to him, Solas got to his feet.

“Eat,” he said sternly before turning and stalking away into the darkness.

Harellan ripped off a piece of bread and placed it in his mouth. It had dried cranberries in it and tasted slightly sweet. He smiled to himself as he chewed thinking about Solas’ retreating form. How did he manage to get up here anyway? Harellan would surely notice him climb. He placed another piece of bread in his mouth along with a small bit of cheese. It tasted better than anything he had eaten in days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted a slightly more action-packed chapter, adding less Harellan blanking out or fainting at random moments. And we finally got to hear from some other characters. Yay! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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